Sir William and Symon.
Sir William.
To whom belongs this house so much decay'd?
Sym. To ane that lost it, lending generous aid,
To bear the Head up, when rebellious Tail
Against the laws of nature did prevail.
Sir William Worthy is our master's name,
Whilk fills us all with joy, now He's come hame.
(Sir William draps his masking beard,
Symon transported sees
The welcome Knight, with fond regard,
And grasps him round the knees.)
My master! my dear master!—do I breathe,
To see him healthy, strong, and free frae skaith;
Return'd to chear his wishing tenants sight,
To bless his son, my charge, the world's delight!
Sir Will. Rise, faithful Symon; in my arms enjoy
A place, thy due, kind guardian of my boy:
I came to view thy care in this disguise,
And am confirm'd thy conduct has been wise;
Since still the secret thou'st securely seal'd,
And ne'er to him his real birth reveal'd.
Sym. The due obedience to your strict command
Was the first lock;—neist, my ain judgment fand
Out reasons plenty: since, without estate,
A youth, tho' sprung frae kings, looks baugh and blate.
Sir Will. And aften vain and idly spend their time,
'Till grown unfit for action, past their prime,
Hang on their friends—which gi'es their sauls a cast,
That turns them downright beggars at the last.
Sym. Now well I wat, Sir, ye have spoken true;
For there's laird Kytie's son, that's loo'd by few:
His father steght his fortune in his wame,
And left his heir nought but a gentle name.
He gangs about sornan frae place to place,
As scrimp of manners, as of sense and grace;
Oppressing all as punishment of their sin,
That are within his tenth degree of kin:
Rins in ilk trader's debt, wha's sae unjust
To his ain fam'ly, as to give him trust.
Sir Will. Such useless branches of a common-wealth,
Should be lopt off, to give a state mair health.
Unworthy bare reflection.—Symon, run
O'er all your observations on my son;
A parent's fondness easily finds excuse:
But do not with indulgence truth abuse.
Sym. To speak his praise, the langest simmer day
Wad be o'er short,—cou'd I them right display.
In word and deed he can sae well behave,
That out of sight he runs before the lave;
And when there's e'er a quarrel or contest,
Patrick's made judge to tell whase cause is best;
And his decreet stands good;—he'll gar it stand:
Wha dares to grumble, finds his correcting hand;
With a firm look, and a commanding way,
He gars the proudest of our herds obey.
Sir Will. Your tale much pleases;—my good friend, proceed:
What learning has he? Can he write and read?
Sym. Baith wonder well; for, troth, I didna spare
To gi'e him at the school enough of lair;
And he delites in books:—He reads, and speaks
With fowks that ken them, Latin words and Greeks.

Sir Will. Where gets he books to read?—and of what kind?
Tho' some give light, some blindly lead the blind.
Sym. Whene'er he drives our sheep to Edinburgh port,
He buys some books of history, sangs or sport:
Nor does he want of them a rowth at will,
And carries ay a poutchfu' to the hill.
About ane Shakspear, and a famous Ben,
He aften speaks, and ca's them best of men.
How sweetly Hawthrenden and Stirling sing, }
And ane ca'd Cowley, loyal to his king, }
He kens fu' well, and gars their verses ring. }
I sometimes thought he made o'er great a frase,
About fine poems, histories and plays.
When I reprov'd him anes,—a book he brings,
With this, quoth he, on braes I crack with kings.
Sir Will. He answer'd well; and much ye glad my ear,
When such accounts I of my shepherd hear.
Reading such books can raise a peasant's mind
Above a lord's that is not thus inclin'd.
Sym. What ken we better, that sae sindle look,
Except on rainy Sundays, on a book;
When we a leaf or twa haff read haff spell,
'Till a' the rest sleep round as well's our sell?
Sir Will. Well jested, Symon:—But one question more
I'll only ask ye now, and then give o'er.
The youth's arriv'd the age when little loves
Flighter around young hearts like cooing doves:
Has nae young lassie, with inviting mien,
And rosy cheek, the wonder of the green,
Engag'd his look, and caught his youthfu' heart?
Sym. I fear'd the warst, but kend the mediumest part,
'Till late I saw him twa three times mair sweet,
With Glaud's fair Neice, than I thought right or meet:
I had my fears; but now have nought to fear,
Since like your sell your son will soon appear.
A gentleman, enrich'd with all these charms,
May bless the fairest best born lady's arms.
Sir Will. This night must end his unambitious fire,
When higher views shall greater thoughts inspire.
Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me;
None but your self shall our first meeting see.
Yonder's my horse and servants nigh at hand,
They come just at the time I gave command;
Straight in my own apparel I'll go dress:
Now ye the secret may to all confess.
Sym. With how much joy I on this errand flee!
There's nane can know, that is not downright me.
[Exit Symon.
Sir William solus.
When the event of hopes successfully appears,
One happy hour cancells the toil of years.
A thousand toils are lost in Lethe's stream,
And cares evanish like a morning dream:
When wish'd for pleasures rise like morning light,
The pain that's past enhances the delight.
These joys I feel that words can ill express,
I ne'er had known without my late distress.
But from his rustick business and love, }
I must in haste my Patrick soon remove, }
To courts and camps that may his soul improve. }
Like the rough diamond, as it leaves the mine,
Only in little breakings shews its light,
Till artfu' polishing has made it shine:
Thus education makes the genius bright.
Or sung as follows.

SANG XV.—Tune, Wat ye wha I met Yestreen.

Now from rusticity and love,
Whose flames but over lowly burn,
My gentle shepherd must be drove,
His soul must take another turn:
As the rough diamond from the mine,
In breakings only shews its light,
Till polishing has made it shine:
Thus learning makes the genius bright. [Exit
End of the Third Act.

ACT FOURTH.

SCENE I.

The scene describ'd in former page,
Gland's onstead,—Enter Mause and Madge.
Mause and Madge.
Mause.
Our laird's come hame! and owns young Pate his heir!
That's news indeed!——
Mad.——As true as ye stand there.
As they were dancing all in Symon's yard,
Sir William, like a warlock, with a beard
Live nives in length, and white as driven snaw,
Amang us came, cry'd, Had ye merry a'.
We ferly'd meikle at his unco look,
While frae his pouch he whirled forth a book.
As we stood round about him on the green,
He view'd us a', but fix'd on Pate his een;
Then pawkily pretended he cou'd spae,
Yet for his pains and skill wad nathing ha'e.
Mause. Then sure the lasses, and ilk gaping coof,
Wad rin about him, and had out their loof.
Mad. As fast as flaes skip to the tate of woo,
Whilk slee Tod Lawrie hads without his mow,
When he to drown them, and his hips to cool,
In simmer days slides backward in a pool:
In short he did, for Pate, braw things fortell,
Without the help of conjuring or spell.
At last, when well diverted, he withdrew,
Pow'd aff his beard to Symon, Symon knew
His welcome master;—round his knees he gat,
Hang at his coat, and syne for blythness grat.
Patrick was sent for;—happy lad is he!
Symon tald Elspa, Elspa tald it me.
Ye'll hear out a' the secret story soon;
And troth 'tis e'en right odd when a' is done,
To think how Symon ne'er afore wad tell,
Na, no sae meikle as to Pate himsell.
Our Meg, poor thing, alake! has lost her jo.
Mause. It may be sae; wha kens? and may be no.
To lift a love that's rooted, is great pain; }
Even kings have tane a queen out of the plain: }
And what has been before, may be again. }
Mad. Sic nonsense! love tak root, but tocher-good,
'Tween a herd's bairn, and ane of gentle blood!
Sic fashions in King Bruce's days might be;
But siccan ferlies now we never see.
Mause. Gif Pate forsakes her, Bauldy she may gain; }
Yonder he comes, and wow but he looks fain! }
Nae doubt he thinks that Peggy's now his ain. }
Mad. He get her! slaverin doof; it sets him weil
To yoke a plough where Patrick thought to till.
Gif I were Meg, I'd let young Master see—
Mause. Ye'd be as dorty in your choice as he:
And so wad I. But whisht, here Bauldy comes.
Enter Bauldy singing.
Jenny said to Jocky, gin ye winna tell,
Ye shall be the lad, I'll be the lass mysell;
Ye're a bonny lad, and I'm a lassie free;
Ye're welcomer to tak me than to let me be.
I trow sae.—Lasses will come to at last,
Tho' for a while they maun their snaw-ba's cast.
Mause. Well, Bauldy, how gaes a'?—
Baul. ——Faith unco right:
I hope we'll a' sleep sound but ane this night.
Mad. And wha's the unlucky ane, if we may ask?
Baul. To find out that, is nae difficult task;
Poor bonny Peggy, wha maun think nae mair
On Pate, turn'd Patrick, and Sir William's heir.
Now, now, good Madge, and honest Mause, stand be,
While Meg's in dumps, put in a word for me.
I'll be as kind as ever Pate could prove;
Less wilful, and ay constant in my love.
Mad. As Neps can witness, and the bushy thorn,
Where mony a time to her your heart was sworn:
Fy! Bauldy, blush, and vows of love regard;
What other lass will trow a mansworn herd?
The curse of Heaven hings ay aboon their heads,
That's ever guilty of sic sinfu' deeds.
I'll ne'er advise my niece sae gray a gate;
Nor will she be advis'd, fu' well I wate.
Baul. Sae gray a gate! mansworn! and a' the rest:
Ye leed, auld Roudes—and, in faith, had best
Eat in your words; else I shall gar ye stand
With a het face afore the haly band.

Mad. Ye'll gar me stand! ye sheveling-gabit brock;
Speak that again, and, trembling, dread my rock,
And ten sharp nails, that when my hands are in,
Can flyp the skin o'ye'r cheeks out o'er your chin.
Baul. I tak ye witness, Mause, ye heard her say,
That I'm mansworn:—I winna let it gae.
Mad. Ye're witness too, he ca'd me bonny names,
And should be serv'd as his good breeding claims.
Ye filthy dog!——
[Flees to his hair like a fury.—A stout battle.—Mause endeavours to redd them.
Mause. Let gang your grips, fy, Madge! howt, Bauldy leen:
I wadna wish this tulzie had been seen;
'Tis sae daft like.——
[Bauldy gets out of Madge's clutches with a bleeding nose.
Mad. ——'Tis dafter like to thole
An ether-cap, like him, to blaw the coal:
It sets him well, with vile unscrapit tongue,
To cast up whether I be auld or young;
They're aulder yet than I have married been,
And or they died their bairns' bairns have seen.
Mause. That's true; and Bauldy ye was far to blame, }
To ca' Madge ought but her ain christen'd name. }
Baul. My lugs, my nose, and noddle finds the same. }
Mad. Auld Roudes! filthy fallow; I shall auld ye.
Mause. Howt no!—ye'll e'en be friends with honest Bauldy.
Come, come, shake hands; this maun nae farder gae:
Ye maun forgi'e'm. I see the lad looks wae.

Baul. In troth now, Mause, I have at Madge nae spite:
But she abusing first, was a' the wite
Of what has happen'd: And should therefore crave
My pardon first, and shall acquittance have.
Mad. I crave your pardon! Gallows-face, gae greet,
And own your faut to her that ye wad cheat:
Gae, or be blasted in your health and gear,
'Till ye learn to perform, as well as swear.
Vow, and lowp back!—was e'er the like heard tell?
Swith, tak him deil; he's o'er lang out of hell.
Baul. [running off.] His presence be about us! Curst were he
That were condemn'd for life to live with thee.
[Exit Bauldy.
Mad. [laughing.] I think I've towzl'd his harigalds a wee;
He'll no soon grein to tell his love to me.
He's but a rascal that wad mint to serve
A lassie sae, he does but ill deserve.
Mause. Ye towin'd him tightly,—I commend ye for't;
His blooding snout gave me nae little sport:
For this forenoon he had that scant of grace,
And breeding baith,—to tell me to my face,
He hop'd I was a Witch, and wadna stand,
To lend him in this case my helping hand.
Mad. A Witch!—How had ye patience this to bear,
And leave him een to see, or lugs to hear?
Mause. Auld wither'd hands, and feeble joints like mine,
Obliges fowk resentment to decline;
Till aft 'tis seen, when vigour fails, then we
With cunning can the lake of pith supplie.
Thus I pat aff revenge till it was dark,
Syne bade him come, and we should gang to wark:
I'm sure he'll keep his triste; and I came here
To seek your help, that we the fool may fear.
Mad. And special sport we'll have, as I protest;
Ye'll be the Witch, and I shall play the Ghaist;
A linen sheet wond round me like ane dead,
I'll cawk my face, and grane, and shake my head.
We'll fleg him sae, he'll mint nae main to gang
A conjuring, to do a lassie wrang.
Mause. Then let us go; for see, 'tis hard on night,
The westlin cloud shines red with setting light.
[Exeunt.

ACT IV.—SCENE II.